


dim the lights (and sing you songs)

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, First Dates, First Kiss, M/M, and i have no self control so i have no idea how long this will end up being, rockstar/groupie AU, this is shamelessly the self-insert fic fanboy!freddie would totally write about him and bri, um enjoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:28:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: Brian is a famous rockstar. Freddie is a lovelorn fanboy. Freddie's dreams of meeting Brian and falling headfirst into a whirlwind romance seem like they can only ever be dreams - until they're not.
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 136
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salazarsslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/gifts).

> I said I would write Maycury for [freddie-mercurial](https://freddie-mercurial.tumblr.com/)'s birthday, she suggested rockstar/groupie AU, and Here I Am. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Roger says when Freddie disappears back into his bedroom for the fourth time to change his outfit.

Freddie pays no attention to him, slamming the door shut and dragging his shirt over his head. He abandons it in a crumpled heap on the bed to be dealt with later and dithers hopelessly in front of his wardrobe for a full minute before he grabs the t-shirt he’d originally gone with at the start of the evening. He puts it back on and stares at his reflection in the mirror.

“Freddie!” Roger yells through the door.

“I’m coming,” Freddie calls absently, turning this way and that. He smooths the sheer material of the t-shirt and checks out the way his jeans hug his ass one last time, then grabs his leather jacket and hurries back out of his bedroom.

Roger is waiting by the door, arms crossed. He takes in the outfit Freddie has changed back into and heaves a huge sigh. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I know,” Freddie says, picking up his phone from the side and tucking it into his pocket. “Are you ready?”

Roger splutters. “Am I – Freddie, I’ve been ready for nearly an hour!”

“I had to make sure the outfit was right!”

“It’s not like you’re going to actually meet him,” Roger says accusingly. He gives Freddie a push out of the door and closes it behind them both to lock up. At Freddie’s silence, he glances over his shoulder to give Freddie a look. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Freddie says quickly, adding defensively, “And it’s not just about _him_, it’s the music – ”

“You have a giant poster of his face inside your bedroom door.”

“It’s a band poster,” Freddie insists. He just happens to take up about 85% of the available space.

Roger just scoffs at him. They clatter down the dingy stairwell of their flat together and head out into the cold night air. It’s too cold for a leather jacket actually but Freddie thinks that Roger might actually kill him if he tries to go back inside for another layer, so he keeps quiet and suffers chattering teeth all the way to the tube station.

Now that they’re on their way it feels more real and Freddie starts to feel the usual swelling excitement, mixed with admittedly silly nerves. It’s not the first time he’s seen _Meteor_ – far from it –but this happens every time. He gets all giddy at the thought of seeing the band perform, and then he gets even giddier at the knowledge that he’s going to be seeing _Brian_.

Existing in the same room as Brian. Breathing the same air as Brian. And maybe Brian will glance up during one of his guitar solos and his eyes will land on Freddie’s face and –

Freddie glances guiltily at Roger as though his best friend can read his mind. Roger’s paying him absolutely no attention as it is, too busy thumbing through various (unopened) WhatsApp notifications from the parade of edgy-looking girls in his life, but Freddie still tries his best to focus his thoughts on something other than his pathetically huge crush on Brian May.

_Meteor_ aren’t playing in a huge stadium but it’s still pretty big, big enough to make the queue to get past security a bit of an ordeal. By the time they get inside Freddie’s fingers are all numb and Roger looks like bloody Rudolph, his nose has gone that red.

They find yet another queue to join at one of the bars, where Freddie buys Roger a beer as a thank you for coming with him even though it’s not really Roger’s scene, and then they head into the arena to find a good place to stand.

The support act is good but Freddie can hardly concentrate – he can’t stop looking at the wings, imagining how Brian is going to come striding out, guitar in hand. He’s so excited he almost feels a bit nauseous.

Maybe his crush is a little out of control.

He can’t bring himself to care though because when the lights flare up and the roar of a drum announces the band’s arrival onto the stage, Freddie joins in with the screams and cheers from all around, standing on his tiptoes and totally forgetting he has a beer in one hand for a moment as he thrusts his arms up into the air. Beer sloshes down and splashes against Roger but Roger’s indignant screech is lost in the roar of the crowd.

And there Brian is, finally, in front of Freddie.

He’s beautiful, so beautiful it’s almost unearthly. Every time Freddie sees him he’s amazed by just how much more beautiful he is in person – it doesn’t seem possible because he looks so bloody _good_ in photos and videos, but here he is. Freddie can’t take his eyes off him.

He plays like a dream, like he always does. He seems to get lost in his own world sometimes, like it’s just him and his bright red guitar; other times he glances at the crowd with a gleam in his hazel eyes and plays up to them. Freddie loves it all, is totally swept up in it, might as well have the bloody heart eyes emoji tattooed on his forehead but he doesn’t care.

Everyone starts grabbing their friends and swaying about during one of the encore songs, a heartfelt and jubilant anthem, and Roger – four beers deep by now and starting to grin a bit dopily – wraps his arms round Freddie and sways along with him, yelling along in his ear. Freddie laughs, delighted, and when the music fades and the lights come up he turns to Roger with a beam.

“That was amazing,” he says happily.

“It was good,” Roger agrees, lifting an amused eyebrow at Freddie’s sappy expression. “God, look at you. Could you have it any worse for him?”

“He’s a god, Roger,” Freddie says seriously. “I think he was sent down from heaven. He’s an angel.”

“So he’s god, an angel, and a rock star? He must be a busy man,” Roger says dryly. “Come on, we’re going to be the last ones out of here if you hang round gawping after him anymore.”

He grabs Freddie’s hand and starts to elbow his way through the crowd. Freddie follows him but his mind is totally elsewhere – it’s still up on stage with Brian, with the band, lost in the thrill of the music.

God, he would give anything to meet Brian. To have just one conversation with him would be more than enough, he thinks, though he would certainly be more than happy to have more than one conversation.

He’d be happy to do absolutely anything Brian asked of him, but that’s neither here nor there.

They end up crammed in beside the wall as the crowd slowly squeezes out of the main exit doors. It’s slow progress, hindered by the queues for merch – Freddie would be joining them if he wasn’t horribly, horribly skint, and Phoebe and John have promised to buy him something for Christmas anyway – and Roger is starting to get huffy, muttering things about exactly what he’s going to do to the next person who steps on the back of his shoe or breathes down his neck.

Freddie leans against the wall during a respite in their shuffling, wishing he was taller so that he could see over people’s heads more easily. The exit doesn’t look too far away and security are trying to hurry people up, but he can see the flash of phone cameras so he supposes people are stopping for selfies in front of the band merch desk and signage.

He can’t really judge because he’s been known to do that at a fair few concerts. He’d probably be asking Roger for a snap if he hadn’t already wheedled Roger into cancelling a date to come along tonight.

His gaze slides away from the exit to a corridor leading off from the main hall just beside them and his heart nearly stops.

There’s a sign taped to the wall beside the corridor. It has an arrow and just one word: _backstage_.

Freddie stares at it. Then he glances back to security.

They’re distracted by a group of girls who have tried to climb onto the merch desk for a photo.

He doesn’t stop to think. He can’t miss this chance.

Freddie grabs Roger’s hand and yanks, dragging him out of the crowd and under the rope. They’re round the corner and out of sight before Roger can say more than, “Freddie, what the – ?!”

Freddie just points at the sign. His heart is beating fast now, adrenaline flooding his system. They’ll be in so much trouble if they’re caught, but if there’s any chance…

“I had to,” he says, and even he can hear how he sounds slightly pleading, “it might be my chance, Rog – ”

“What the hell are we going to say if we get found out?! _When_ we get found?”

“We’ll say we got lost,” Freddie says with confidence he doesn’t feel.

“He’ll never believe you,” Roger says in exasperation.

Even just that – the idea that he might be close enough to Brian for him to have to make up an excuse as to why he’s sneaking around backstage – makes Freddie feel jittery with anxiety and with wild, irrational hope.

Roger is glaring at him so Freddie steps closer, takes Roger’s hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I know it’s stupid, but please, just go along with it. If we get into trouble I’ll tell them it was me, I promise.”

Roger is still frowning but his eyes do soften a little bit and Freddie knows he has won. He sighs and says, “You’re ridiculous,” but then he glances up the corridor that leads backstage and says, “come on then.”

Freddie smiles at him, relieved, and hurries alongside him as they set off. He tries to look purposeful, like he has every right to be here, and most likely fails, but that’s okay because there doesn’t seem to be anybody in this particular corridor. They’re probably in their dressing rooms, or taking down the set from the stage, Freddie reasons, and his heart skips a beat at the knowledge that all that is happening so close to him.

It isn’t long before they hear voices and they both stop, expressions like rabbits in the headlights, but voices fade away as their owners walk into a room nearby. Freddie peeps around the corner before they close the door and sees that they’re wearing jackets emblazoned with CREW on the back.

“Wish we had some of those,” he whispers to Roger.

Roger surprises him by barking with laughter. “Oh god, Fred, now you want a disguise?” He shakes his head. Now that he’s agreed to go along with this, he seems to want to go the full hog; he leans around Freddie to glance up and down the corridor, taking in the activity at the far end. There are people lugging boxes about, chatting amongst themselves and occasionally shouting down the corridor to each other. “Right.” Roger glances back at Freddie. “Let’s do this. You ready?”

Freddie doesn’t know exactly what he’s agreeing to but he nods anyway, more than happy for Roger to take the lead now that Freddie has got them into this mess.

Roger’s plan seems to be to march right into the hive of activity like they belong here; he strolls along casual as anything, hands in his pockets, striking up a conversation about football as if Freddie has any clue what he’s on about. Freddie nods and makes appropriate noises and hopes that nobody notices how his eyes are darting about like mad, taking everything in, this behind-the-scenes glimpse of the world that he adores.

Of course, it doesn’t work, because nothing they did was ever going to – they do actually get past a small handful of people but then there’s a gruff, “Oi!” and Freddie knows the game is up.

He feels an insane urge to immediately run but just about manages to suppress it, plastering on his most innocent expression as he and Roger turn to face the security guard striking down the hallway towards them.

“What are you two doing here?” he demands. “You don’t have security passes.”

“Passes?” Roger glances down at himself and then at Freddie as though they’ve just misplaced them, but evidently decides against making any such claim and goes for the somewhat lame option of, “What passes?”

Freddie winces to himself. He gets the impression that even his most innocent face isn’t working in their favour, so he examines his shoes instead.

“Only people with security clearance are allowed here. It’s out-of-bounds. I’m going to have to escort you out,” the guard says, a trace of irritation in his voice. Freddie suspects they are not the first people to try it on.

“Sorry,” Roger says blandly. “We were just looking for an exit.”

A nearby techie listening in to the conversation snorts disbelievingly at that. Freddie can feel his face starting to flush.

“Come with me,” the security guard tells them in a voice which leaves no room for argument. He herds them further along the corridor, not the way they came, which at least gives Freddie a bit more of a glance at this backstage world, even if his heart is sinking at the knowledge that his chance has passed him by.

It was stupid anyway, he thinks mournfully, stupid risk taken just because of a stupid crush –

Which is, of course, the precise moment that the crush in question decides to walk out of a room barely a metre away from Freddie.

They all stop – the corridor is narrow and they’ll have to squeeze past each other anyway – but the security guard has gone all flustered anyway, as though he needs to hide Brian from the terrible trespassers’ eyes lest they get rewarded for being out-of-bounds.

“Mr May, apologies, I’m just seeing these two out – shouldn’t be here, you know – ”

Brian barely glances at them – he’s reading something on his phone – but Freddie’s heart still beats erratically in his chest.

Brian. It’s _Brian_. Right here, in front of him. So close Freddie could touch him if he reached out (and if he didn’t mind probably getting crushed to a pulp by a security guard).

The guard tries to hustle them past but Roger speaks up before he can.

“Hey, you played really well tonight,” he says boldly.

The guard opens his mouth, presumably to tell him to shut up, but Brian does look at Roger. He takes him in properly this time, and then his gaze slides to Freddie.

Freddie has no idea what his expression looks like but he can tell his face is very red. God, he hopes his mouth isn’t hanging open.

“He doesn’t have time to talk to you,” the guard snaps before Brian can reply, grabbing Roger’s arm physically this time.

“I’m not exactly busy,” Brian says, giving the guard a look. Freddie gets the sense that he doesn’t appreciate people speaking for him and a timid little balloon of hope rises, that maybe Brian doesn’t mind them being here -

“They were caught sneaking backstage,” the guard says, and Freddie’s little balloon abruptly pops.

That’s that then.

_Hello, enormous crush of approximately six years; I’m Freddie Bulsara and now you think I’m a total weirdo who tries to stalk you. Bye!_

But Brian’s mouth twitches, amused. “Were they?”

“Yes, and I’ll just be seeing them out – ”

“You enjoyed the show?” Brian interrupts, glancing back at Roger.

Roger nods. “It was brilliant. I saw you in Truro a couple of years ago and I thought that was good but this was even better.”

Freddie knows it’s stupid but he can’t help it – _Roger_ is talking to _Brian_, just standing here in front of Freddie talking to Brian like it’s nothing, and for a moment he can barely breathe he’s so overwhelmingly stupidly jealous.

And then Roger, bless his heart, nods his head at Freddie and adds, “My friend Freddie, he’s a big fan of the band, he’s seen you more than I have.”

Brian looks at Freddie again and Freddie feels like his heart might leap out of his chest. He can’t think of a damn thing to say, his tongue feels heavy and stupid and useless in his mouth.

“Did you enjoy it too, Freddie?” Brian asks him.

Freddie almost nods and then catches himself just in time. He needs to say something. He needs to make this count.

And he means to tell Brian the show was great and he really enjoyed this song or that song, really he does, but instead what comes out is, “I love your guitar solo just before the encore but I think it would be better placed earlier in the show.”

A moment of silence meets his words. Roger gawps at him. The security guard looks incredulous. Brian is staring at him and Freddie wishes he could bite off his own tongue.

“I mean – ” he begins, voice quavering traitorously, but Brian holds up a hand and Freddie falls quiet.

“I actually argued for it to be included earlier in the setlist,” Brian tells him. He smiles, a bit amused but also oddly gentle, and Freddie sort of wants to sag against the wall in relief that he’s not offended or annoyed. “I’m glad someone agrees with me.”

Freddie smiles back shyly.

The security guard clears his throat.

“I’ll let you get off,” Brian says, taking the hint, though Freddie feels like he could start floating up to the ceiling and beyond with happiness at the way Brian makes it sound like him and Roger are just acquaintances he’s bumped into rather than sneaky little concert goers with no right to be here in this corridor talking to him. “Are you coming to any of the other shows this week?”

“Yes,” says Freddie, deciding then and there that he doesn’t need to eat next month. It’s fine. He can do this. He’s aware of Roger’s gawp becoming more and more pronounced but carefully ignores him.

Brian smiles again. “I hope you enjoy it.” He gives them each a nod and then ducks back inside his dressing room, apparently having forgotten what he walked out in the first place for.

The security guard bitches under his breath all the way to the exit and tells them off for a solid five minutes in the freezing cold doorway, but Freddie doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he’ll care about anything ever else ever again but the fact that he just met Brian May, and Brian May smiled at him.

-

The shows have been good here but Brian’s getting itchy feet, eager to move on to some place new as he always is when they are on tour. If he can’t be home he wants to be on the move.

He can see a big crowd waiting at the entrance to the stadium and sighs to himself. He’s not really in the mood for it today, but it’s not like there’s a better option – the main entrance will be even worse. It’s their last show in this city and word has got around about the band’s comings and goings, what time they arrive, when is best to catch them for an autograph and a selfie.

He plays the part a bit when he gets closer, signing some photos and tickets, leaning in for the odd photo, but as he gets closer to the door the crowd gets more intense. A few steps away from the entrance, a gaggle of autograph hunters lunge for him, thrusting laminated photos of him and the rest of the band in Brian’s face. Brian rears back, irritated at the pushiness, and opens his mouth to snap at them.

“Hey!” someone else shouts, annoyed and offended and vaguely familiar, and Brian looks around to see a kid he knows from somewhere, wearing a yellow jacket that’s far too thin for London in October, trying to hold his ground against one of the pushy autograph hunters.

‘Trying’ being the appropriate word, because the autograph hunter in question has a good foot and a half on him and is at least three times as wide. The man sneers and gives the kid a solid shove that sends him staggering back. He’s swallowed up instantly in the crowd, disappearing amongst a sea of hands brandishing phones and pens and ticket stubs.

Brian stops.

The hunters seem to take that as permission to shove even more items to sign in his face, ignoring the bristling of Brian’s entourage and the venue security shouting at them to get back.

Brian ignores them all. Where does he know him from?

It’s something recent, he knows that – and then it comes to him. The two kids who snuck backstage a couple of days ago, about 20 by the looks of them, skinny and starry-eyed.

He’s not quite sure what makes him do it, but Brian holds his hands up to silence the crowd and waits.

It takes a few moments but eventually the crowd settles enough for him to plough on. They’re all staring at him. Most of them look enraptured simply to be in his presence, starstruck and awed. Some of them, like the cluster of autograph hunters near Brian, just look impatient.

Brian doesn’t care. He doesn’t plan on hanging about – it’s a shame for the real fans, but he’s not in the mood tonight.

He looks straight at the pushy men, disparagingly. “The young man in the yellow jacket who was standing here just now,” he says, loud and clear. “The one you shoved back. I want you to let him through.”

They stare at him but something about the steel in his tone seems to get through to them; there’s annoyance on their faces but they don’t resist, shuffling when they have to in order to create a gap.

The kid appears after a handful of seconds. He looks very uncertain, almost slightly wary, like he’s expecting a trick.

Brian remembers his name now, for reasons he’s not so keen to admit, and he offers him a reassuring smile.

Brian holds out a hand to him when it becomes apparent that he’s going to stop behind the barrier. “Come here,” he says.

Freddie glances at the security guard, who grabs the metal barrier and lifts one end of it to let him through. He squeezes out.

Brian still has his hand out. He settles it on Freddie’s shoulder and throws the autograph hunters a derisive look.

“I don’t sign for people with no manners,” he says condescendingly. “Come on, Freddie.”

He’s aware of Freddie twisting under his hand to look up at him in sheer amazement, which he supposes is due to the name drop, but Brian just steers him towards the door. He only lets go when his PA hurries forward to open it and usher Freddie inside.

Brian turns back to the crowd at that point and thanks the fans for coming, makes his apologies for not signing for anyone, and then follows Freddie in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back with another helping of my sweet summer child, Freddie The Fanboy

Freddie looks very out-of-place, standing against the wall with his hands defensively deep in his pockets and his gaze flicking about all over the place, following the hustle and bustle of the stadium workers and Brian’s entourage.

Brian walks over to him. “Sorry about that,” he says. “You shouldn’t be treated like that.”

Freddie just looks at him, more confused than ever, and honestly Brian really doesn’t know why he did what he just did – he’s seen autograph hunters be vile on many occasions, has felt bad for hundreds of fans because he can’t please everyone all the time no matter how hard he tries.

He’s never pulled one from the crowd like this though. In front of everyone. Someone he doesn’t know at all beyond a shy smile in a corridor and a blurted out opinion about a guitar solo.

Freddie opens his mouth and Brian just knows he’s going to ask that one question Brian can’t answer – _why? _– so he ploughs ahead before he can get the question out.

“I’m going to my dressing room for a drink, if you want to join me? I’ve got about an hour before we’re warming up.”

Freddie blinks at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Um, yes please?”

Brian smiles at him and gestures down the passageway that leads to his room. Freddie casts one last wary look in the direction of Brian’s (very efficient, more than slightly intimidating PA) before he starts to walk in the direction Brian is indicating, going slow until he’s trailing half a step behind Brian.

Brian is very aware that Freddie keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, like he can’t quite believe he’s real.

It’s oddly endearing. Brian is used to people being awed by him but there’s something different about Freddie’s amazement that he’s here with Brian. It’s a quiet sort of astonishment, the sort that indicates that exciting things don’t happen all that often in Freddie’s life. It’s like he’s more surprised by his own presence here, backstage, than he is by Brian being next to him.

Apparently it’s not only awe that has Freddie glancing at him, though, because as they round the corner and arrive at the dressing room door Freddie plucks up the courage to say what’s on his mind.

“Why did you do that?”

“They shouldn’t treat people like that,” Brian answers again, fumbling in his pocket for his keycard.

“No, I agree, but… why am I allowed in here?” Freddie glances around again, like he’s expecting security to leap out from behind a vending machine and frog-march him off down the corridor.

“Why shouldn’t you be?”

“Because I’m a mad fan who might turn out to be a deranged stalker?” Freddie suggests. Then he looks up at Brian as the door swings open and his eyes go wide. “I’m not, I mean, I’m not going to – “

Brian just laughs and puts his hand on Freddie’s back to give him a gentle nudge over the threshold. “Is this the part where you tell me you followed me home last night?”

Freddie laughs too, shyly. Brian likes the sound of it, and he’s even more amused by the quickly added, “I really didn’t, though, I’m just saying.”

“It’s okay, I believe you,” Brian says teasingly. He opens his arms to gesture at the contents of his dressing room in one big sweep. “Welcome to the inner sanctum.”

Freddie shrugs off his yellow jacket when Brian holds a hand out for it and passes it to him, then looks around the room, at the mini fridge in the corner and the instruments placed carefully on their various stands and the books stacked on the shelf by the large mirror.

“Not what I expected,” he says.

Brian gives a little huff of laughter as he tosses their coats over the back of a sofa. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Freddie points at the shelf behind Brian. “The books. They’re not very…”

“Very what?” Brian picks up the book nearest him, an autobiography of a newsreader from the seventies. “They’re interesting.”

“They’re not very _you_,” Freddie says.

“What books would you class as very me?” Brian asks.

Freddie goes very pink all of a sudden. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, far too casually. He makes a show of pausing like he’s got to think about it and then says, “Maybe books on… space.”

“Space,” Brian repeats, going over to the fridge to get them some drinks. “Sit down,” he throws over his shoulder, “make yourself at home.”

Freddie ums and ars behind him as he selects two bottles of beer and takes the cap off.

“I just thought… with the name of the band and all,” Freddie says in that same casual tone. Brian suspects that he’s far more clued up on Brian’s interests and hobbies than he’s pretending to be, but he takes pity on him and doesn’t mention it.

“I suppose so,” he says instead, not wanting to embarrass him, though he can’t deny the pink on his cheeks is ridiculously attractive.

He doesn’t feel too bad about thinking that, because up close Freddie is clearly a bit older than he seemed out in the crowd – early twenties, maybe. He’s an adult, albeit a young one. Albeit still a good ten years younger than Brian at least.

Brian pushes that thought from his mind and hands Freddie his beer. “Here you go. Cheers.” He clinks his own bottle against Freddie’s and then sinks into the cushy chair over by the mirror, casting a critical glance at his reflection as he does. He looks tired, he thinks; he ought to put a bit more make-up on than usual, to cover that up for the show.

When he looks back at Freddie, he’s still standing – well, hovering. He takes Brian’s pointed look as the hint it is, though, and sits down in the chair opposite Brian’s.

The question is clear in his eyes once again and Brian braces himself for it, knowing he’s going to have to give Freddie some kind of answer – and himself, really, because when he thinks about what made him pull Freddie out of that crowd and bring him here all he can think of is how he felt a surge of some unfamiliar feeling, hot and irritated, when he saw Freddie getting jostled about in the crowd like that, by men much bigger and older than him.

Protectiveness, he realises, and immediately feels foolish. He has no right to feel protective over Freddie. He barely knows him. Freddie isn’t his.

“Why?” Freddie asks again.

He’s brave, Brian realises. That realisation doesn’t exactly help the attraction Brian feels. Here Freddie is, out of his depth, alone with a man he seems to idolise, but he’s not afraid to ask for what he wants to know.

Brian takes a sip of his drink to stall, lifting his gaze from the beer bottle to Freddie’s face to study him. Freddie’s eyes are intent on Brian’s; they’re a very nice colour, he notices, a dark warm brown, and the black lashes framing his eyes are thick and pretty.

Freddie _is_ pretty, Brian is very aware of that – too aware of it, of how much he likes the dimple in Freddie’s cheek and his flyaway fluffy black hair.

As much as Brian would like to pretend otherwise, he has his answer right there. Why else would he haul Freddie from the sea of unknowns?

He thinks he hates himself a little bit for it, because he might not know Freddie very well but he knows he deserves more than this – more than being plucked from the crowd and brought back to Brian’s dressing room to get fucked and then sent on his way.

Freddie’s not drinking his beer – he’s taking very occasional tiny sips and from the purse of his mouth, he’s not enjoying it all that much. Brian sort of wants to take it from him and fix him whatever drink he wants instead, but he’s not so sure it’s a good idea.

He can’t stall any longer, though, so he sighs and says, honestly, “I didn’t like seeing that. The way they pushed you. It made me feel – ” He stops.

Freddie just waits, looking at him curiously.

“Like you deserved better,” Brian settles for, which is true, if not the whole truth. “You seemed like a good kid the other night.” He pauses, then adds knowingly, “Sneaking backstage aside, of course.”

Pink tinges Freddie’s cheekbones again. “It was my friend’s idea,” he says.

Brian arches an eyebrow. “Was it?”

“No,” Freddie admits, “I don’t know what came over me, my friend thought I was being so silly – ”

“What did you want from it?” Brian asks, genuinely interested. “Were you trying to get to the stage?”

The pink deepens. “Oh, um, we were…” Freddie looks away from him and Brian watches him swallow. “We were… hoping to meet… you, actually. The band.”

“The band,” Brian repeats. Freddie looks back at him and holds his gaze this time, and Brian feels a little thrill of triumph when something in Freddie’s eyes confirms what he suspects: as much as Freddie might love the band and the music, his little foray backstage was about _Brian_.

He doesn’t comment on it, turning back to his reflection in the mirror. He can see bags under his eyes and he doesn’t like them so he reaches for the kohl, hoping a bit of dramatic eye make-up might distract from them.

Freddie watches him quietly as he gets ready, taking the occasional reluctant sip of his beer. After catching him pulling a face for the third time in the mirror Brian laughs and sends him over to the fridge to help himself to whatever he wants. He comes back over with a vodka tonic and thanks Brian about five times until Brian laughs and says, “_Freddie_!” in an exasperated voice.

Hearing Brian say his name like that makes Freddie light up like a bloody _beacon_. It’s ridiculously adorable and stupidly, stupidly attractive, and Brian decides there and then that he might as well just go along with this and see where Freddie wants to take it, because there’s no use trying to kid himself that he doesn’t want Freddie. He does. A lot.

Now that Freddie’s finally stopped thanking him, conversation turns to the band, their music and the upcoming gig; Freddie shares a few more opinions on songs and videos and albums, all clearly well-considered and informed. A couple are controversial enough to make Brian splutter at him, which Freddie seems to enjoy. 

“Roger isn’t going to believe me when I tell him about this,” Freddie says, looking around at the dressing room again before his gaze lands back on Brian like he can’t quite bear to look away from him for too long. “He’s the friend I was with on Tuesday,” he adds, “You’ll probably remember him better than me actually, he’s the ridiculously gorgeous blonde.” He laughs, self-deprecating.

Truth be told, Brian doesn’t really remember what Freddie’s friend looks like – he isn’t sure he would have recognised him in the crowd tonight the way he recognised Freddie. He remembers that the kid was good looking, certainly, but it was Freddie’s shy smile that lingered in his mind.

Freddie’s looking down at his hands now, fiddling about with them in his lap, and Brian feels a sudden urge to reassure him.

“You’re gorgeous too,” he says gently, “you know that, don’t you?”

Freddie’s head comes up and he looks totally startled – whether by the words or by the fact it’s Brian saying them, Brian can’t quite tell.

He doesn’t seem to know what to say, anyway, so he just ducks his head back down. Brian can see the corners of his mouth twitching though, hiding that same shy smile.

Eventually the call for band warm up goes out and Brian stands, making sure he’s got everything he needs. Freddie looks a bit disappointed that it all seems to be over but he doesn’t say anything. Brian grabs Freddie’s jacket for him, fumbling with it for a moment before he hands it over, watching Freddie zip it up.

“You have a ticket to the show?” he checks.

Freddie nods and pats his jacket pocket. “In the seated section. Thought I’d give my legs a bit of a break.”

“I’ll be able to see you from the stage if you keep that coat on,” Brian teases.

Freddie smooths his lapel self-consciously. “I like yellow.”

“I noticed.”

“You like yellow too,” Freddie says, and there it is again – he immediately goes red.

Brian lifts his eyebrows and swivels in his chair to face Freddie. “What makes you say that?” he asks innocently.

“Guessing,” Freddie says.

Brian’s eyebrows go higher.

“I read it in a magazine,” Freddie confesses.

“Which magazine?” Brian digs, because he knows full well what the answer is and Freddie is adorable like this, all pink-cheeked and squirming.

“_Brian_,” Freddie groans, “don’t make me say it.”

There is every chance that Brian likes hearing Freddie groan his name like that far more than he should, but he valiantly chooses not to focus on that. “Oh, I just can’t remember which magazine asked me about my favourite colour, that’s all.”

Freddie glares at him without heat. “You know,” he accuses, but he sighs and admits it anyway: “Yes, I read it in _Hot Gossip for Fashionable Teens_ and yes, I bought the magazine because I knew it had a fold-out poster of you in that shirt with most of the buttons undone.”

Brian laughs, delighted, and he puts his hands on Freddie’s shoulders to steer him out of the door. “Oh, _Freddie_,” he sighs and Freddie groans at him, but when Brian lets him go in the corridor outside, he’s grinning.

Another call goes out on the speakers. Brian glances up on reflex and says, “I need to get going. Enjoy the show, yeah?”

“I will,” Freddie says. He’s gazing at Brian with that same quiet amazement from earlier and Brian hides a smile, not wanting Freddie to guess what he’s done.

“See you sometime, maybe,” he says, turning to go.

“Brian,” Freddie says quickly, and Brian turns back to him.

Freddie doesn’t say anything for a moment, apparently at a bit of a loss for what he can possibly say in this situation. “Thanks,” Freddie says eventually, his voice soft.

Brian just smiles at him. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He turns on his heel and walks away.

-

Freddie walks home from the gig like he’s in a dream.

He can’t believe that actually happened. God, did it happen? Is he going to wake up and it’ll still be the morning before the show. Or maybe he hit his head on the way to the concert. He knows he’s not drunk or high because his and Roger’s measly stock of alcohol ran out last week and they can’t afford to get any more until the end of the month, but there has to be some explanation for why this is happening to him.

Things like this never happen to him.

But he can still smell Brian’s cologne lingering on the collar of his jacket, from where Brian’s coat draped on top of his own. The memory of Brian’s hazel eyes on his is so, so vivid, so achingly real.

He feels a bit tearful that it’s over and he sniffs hard, telling himself not to be silly. He’s incredibly lucky that it happened at all. He never thought he’d experience something like that in his wildest dreams.

Still, his eyes continue to sting a bit as he makes his way home.

When he reaches his flat he stares at the handle for a few moments blankly. His brain is far away, still stuck hopelessly on _BrianBrianBrian_, and it takes him a handful of seconds to kick it back into gear and register that he actually needs to let himself in.

He puts his hand into the pocket of his yellow jacket for his key and his finger brushes paper. He half-crumples it as he brings it out, assuming it’s an old receipt, but then he catches sight of a flash of familiar handwriting and his heart just about leaps out of his chest.

He stops outside the front door and unfolds the paper, his heart hammering in his chest.

There’s a mobile number in thin spidery scrawl, and a message.

_You’re gorgeous, I meant that. Brian x_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to a full chapter of pining. Seriously. So much pining.

It’s not like his whirling mind is in any position to form coherent thoughts, let alone functional plans, but Freddie still sort of assumes that he’s going to let himself into his and Roger’s flat and come out with it. Telling Roger everything that happens in his life is his autopilot, after all. He’ll grab hold of Roger as soon as he sees him and it will all coming spilling out - how he’s got his fingers curled tightly around a scrap of paper with _Brian May’s phone number _on it at this very moment, how _Brian May thinks he’s gorgeous._

Freddie lets himself into the flat, but autopilot doesn’t kick in. He shouts vaguely to answer Roger’s call of greeting and goes straight into his bedroom. He goes over to his rickety old bed and sits cross-legged on it, placing the scrap of paper before him on his pillow, and gives in to the urge to just… stare at it for a while.

He can’t resist the urge to reach out and trace the words, his fingertip trailing over the swirling tail of each g. Brian’s handwriting is familiar from year after year of perusing magazines for interviews and articles and mini question and answer sessions, where Brian would sign off his answers with his well-known ‘_love Bri X’ _and Freddie would go all dreamy over Brian’s answers, his quiet but forthright attitude.

And the pictures. Always the pictures. Freddie has amassed quite the collection of magazines over the years and it’s not to say _all _the pictures are totally amazing, but… well. Freddie’s had a crush on Brian since he was 16, and whilst he prides himself on impeccable taste _now_, 16 year olds will be 16 year olds.

_You’re gorgeous._

It’s silly, but his chest feels a bit tight as he stares at those words. Freddie breathes in and out a few times, slowly, trying to calm himself.

He shapes his own vowels like Brian does – he started copying him on purpose ages ago, when he was still in school with his nails painted white like Brian’s and _Meteor _stickers covering every available inch of space on his exercise books. A lovesick teenager with a one track mind, _different _from his peers and all too aware of it – but he had the band and the music and Brian to distract him from all that.

_You’re gorgeous. _

And now there’s ink on Freddie’s fingertip because Brian wrote this message for him, mere hours ago. Because he… thinks Freddie’s gorgeous.

Because he wants Freddie?

He must, or else he wouldn’t have written this and left it in Freddie’s pocket.

But what does he want Freddie _for_?

Freddie closes his eyes and, just for a brief second, he dares to imagine himself on a date with Brian. Brian picking him up in a fancy car, Brian in a suit, Brian holding the door for Freddie and pulling his chair out for him, smiling indulgently and laughing with Freddie about everything and everyone outside their little bubble. With him, never at him.

His heart gives a pathetic little leap at the thought, but Freddie steels himself and banishes the daydream before he can let himself linger on it. He’s not stupid, he knows what this is about. Brian’s a rockstar who can date anybody. It’s far more realistic that Brian just wants sex from him, and really, shouldn’t that be enough?

Freddie doesn’t have to dare himself to imagine this one, he’s imagined it enough times as it is, made up a hundred different scenarios where he ends up in Brian’s bed (or out of it, as the case may be). His mind starts to drift down a familiar path – Brian’s knee between Freddie’s thighs, his breath on Freddie’s neck, his hands on Freddie’s ass – but his eyes snap open before his mind can go any further.

It’s a daydream he’s had a million times before, but it feels very different now. Before he actually went and _met _Brian, he could daydream to his heart’s content about how it would feel to have Brian’s eyes intent on him, or feel Brian’s hand brush his. Now he knows what that feels like and trying to imagine it up feels like a weak echo of the real thing. It’s not enough anymore.

Brian knows who Freddie is, now, Brian recognised him amongst a crowd and stopped to bring Freddie inside with him. Brian spent time with him _alone_, a snatched hour of sacred privacy which seemed to last an age as much as it lasted a single beat of Freddie’s lovelorn heart.

Dreaming of him isn’t enough, but nor is meeting him like that. Freddie wants both, and there’s no point pretending otherwise: he wants the Brian he tentatively thinks he might have started to get to know tonight to do the things Freddie dreams about.

Freddie does have an awful lot of dreams about Brian.

He looks back down at the scrap of paper and mouths the words to himself. _Gorgeous. _

His eyes shift from the words to the mobile number. There’s absolutely nothing special about it, it’s just a sequence of numbers like any other, and yet it’s _Brian May’s number _and so it sort of feels like it might just be the key to the entire universe.

Freddie is fairly sure that if someone had told him a week ago that he would be sitting in his room with Brian May’s phone number in front of him, he would be turning himself inside out in his haste to type out a suitably witty, devil-may-care-but-please-love-me-forever-I’m-begging-you message.

As it is, Freddie hasn’t even dug his phone out of his pocket. Step one is sitting and staring at the piece of paper until his stunned mind can accept it as reality. Picking up his phone is probably about step five; actually drafting a text is probably around step eight. Freddie has no idea what the steps in between area, but he’ll face those obstacles when he inevitably smacks headfirst into them.

A soft knock at the door finally drags his attention away from the paper; he looks up as his door opens a crack and Roger’s face appears around it. “Freddie? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, darling,” Freddie says automatically, gesturing for Roger to come in properly. “You look exhausted.”

“Fell asleep on the sofa. Long shift.” Roger grimaces as he sits down on the end of Freddie’s bed, but he’s still eyeing Freddie like he expects him to randomly start crying or something. “You sure you’re okay? Not to say I don’t appreciate the peace, but you’ve never come in from a _Meteor _show so quietly before.”

Which is… ironic, Freddie thinks, all things considered, but also very true. He carefully doesn’t look at the paper, hidden behind him, because now that Roger is in front of him and Freddie has his chance to actually tell somebody what has happened, he’s at a loss for how he can possibly explain it.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, before Roger’s side-eye begins to bore too deeply into him. “I had an… interesting night. To… to put it lightly.”

Roger just looks at him, eyebrows raised.

“I went to stage door,” Freddie begins, and Roger immediately groans.

“If this is going to be you writing sonnets about his curls I reserve the right to immediately stop listening.”

“I don’t write – it’s more than that, Roger!”

“It better be,” Roger grumbles, raising a finger and pointing it at Freddie. “I’ve put up with my fair share of Brian May this week already, dragging me backstage like that – ”

“You might have to put up with a bit more,” Freddie says. He can hear the tremble of excitement in his own voice but he doesn’t bother to hide it or try and dampen it down – he lets it wash over him as he gropes behind, feeling for the paper and bringing it round to show Roger. “I met him again. Brian. He invited me for a drink backstage with him and he’s given me his number.”

Silence meets his words.

Freddie holds the paper lightly in one palm. It’s curling up at the edges slightly but the words are right there, in Roger’s face, written by Brian’s own (oh so fair) hand.

Roger looks down at it, apparently lost for words. Freddie relishes the moment.

“He’s given me his number,” Freddie repeats. Those words do sound very nice when he says them out loud, almost like saying them makes them more real. He suspects he might be starting to grin madly but he doesn’t care, adding unnecessarily, “So I can text him. Or call him,” because he likes how those words sound too.

Roger finally looks up. He looks startled, but also a bit wary. Freddie doesn’t want to see that right now.

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Called him. Or texted him.”

“I only realised he’d slipped me his number when I got home.”

Roger’s eyebrows rise further. “So you’ve just been… sitting in here. In your room. With Brian’s number. And you’ve not done anything with it.”

Freddie traces the handwriting again reverently. He shakes his head.

“Are you _going _to?”

“Of course!” Freddie looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he…” Roger breaks off, hesitating over his words, then sighs and just comes out with it. “He’ll just be wanting sex, right?”

The daydream of a date in a fancy restaurant lingers at the back of Freddie’s mind but he resolutely ignores it. “I assume so, yes.”

“And you’re… okay… with that?” Roger questions. He holds up a hand to ward off Freddie’s answer right away and adds, “I’m not _judging_ or anything, Fred, but I don’t want you to…”

“To what?”

Roger winces a bit but he says it anyway. “To get your hopes up.”

That does sting a little bit, but Freddie shakes it off. Roger doesn’t _mean _anything by it, he knows that, and he’d be a fool to start building up some elaborate fantasy world in which Brian May is interested in an over-eager fan for anything other than a quick shag. He’s alright with that. He has to be alright with that.

“Rog, I’m not getting my hopes up,” Freddie says, as gently as he can. “I know what this is about. You’ll have to trust me.”

Roger holds his gaze for a moment, then nods. The tension dissolves in the air between them as Roger looks back down at the paper. He scoffs to himself. “Only you, Freddie, honestly,” he says. “Now come on, get your bloody phone out. You’ve been waiting five years for this.”

“Six,” Freddie corrects. He does as Roger says, though he abruptly feels very very nervous and not at all witty or devil-may-care.

“Pathetic,” Roger teases, but fondly. He moves up on the bed to sit closer to Freddie, at a better angle for seeing the screen of his phone, and reclines on Freddie’s pillows. “I know you daren’t call him, and I have a feeling this text is going to take a long time to sort out, so just prod me if I fall asleep, yeah?”

“No promises,” Freddie mumbles, staring down at his phone like it might bite him.

He can sense Roger watching him as he agonises over his text, but it’s a long time before he speaks.

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I know he’s a rockstar in a famous band, but I _will _break his legs if he upsets you.”

“Noted.”

-

_Hey you. Didn’t realise you’d slipped me your number, very sneaky! _  
_It was really great getting to know you a bit last night. Thanks again for helping me with the crowd. The show was incredible, by the way, but I’m sure you know that!_  
_Let me know if you’d like to meet up again sometime?_  
_Freddie xxx_

It’s well past midday when Brian finally cracks his eyes open and it’s another half hour before he summons the energy to lift his sluggish arm out of bed and pick up his phone from the side to check the time.

He’s got dozens of messages because he always has, friends and exes and friends of friends, but he finds himself scrolling through them looking for the unknown number among them, and smiles automatically when he finds it.

Short and sweet, just like Freddie.

Brian fires back a quick reply just to let Freddie know he’s read it and that he’s definitely interested in meeting up again, then drops his phone on his chest and leans back into his pillows, wondering what he should arrange.

He’s got a vision of bringing a nice car to pick Freddie up and taking him out for dinner to a really good restaurant, but maybe that’s too much? He doesn’t want to scare him away. But he _likes _Freddie and he wants to do something nice for him, so maybe…

Maybe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First date shenanigans commence (not THAT kind of shenanigans, soz).

_See you tomorrow… X_

_I know!! Can’t wait xxx_

_I hope you like the place I’ve picked. Pressure’s on! X_

_I’m sure I will you’ve got good taste 😜 xxx_

_Speak for yourself 😉 X_

_Oh shush I didn’t mean me! xxx_

_What did you mean? X_

_Just in general… xxx_

_Am I a tasty kind of guy? X_

_That’s awful please never say those words again xxx_

_No promises. I’ll pick you up at about half past seven, does that work for you? X_

_You don’t have to pick me up, I can make my own way there xxx_

_If you tell me where of course!! Xxx_

_I’d like to pick you up. Half seven? X_

_If you really want to… I wouldn’t get out of the car or anything like that though, I know that sounds stupid but there’s a lot of students and stuff round here so you’d probably be recognised instantly and then we’ll never get anywhere… xxx_

_Not even if I wear a cap like Clark Kent? X_

_Darling as if your hair would fit under a cap xxx_

_Good point. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. What’s your address? X_

_[Location shared] xxx_

_Thanks. I’m really looking forward to it. X_

_Me too xxx_

-

“Nearly there,” his driver calls.

Brian looks up from his phone. He’s never been to this part of London before and it’s dark outside anyway, but there doesn’t seem to be all that much to see. It’s quieter than the city centre, lit by streetlamps and the neon light above the off-license on the corner as opposed to the constant glare of inner-city London. The drive’s taken quite a while; Brian wonders how long it takes Freddie to get to the centre and back for work.

Freddie hasn’t told him exactly where he works yet – he’s managed to get ‘retail’ out of him but that’s about it. They’ve been texting constantly but Freddie is never very keen to share many details about himself. He always wants to talk about what Brian is up to, what Brian is doing, where Brian is going. With most people – especially a fan of the band like Freddie – Brian would assume he was just starstruck, but somehow he doesn’t think it’s that with Freddie. Freddie doesn’t seem to like talking about himself much if he can help it.

Brian hopes that changes tonight. He wrestled with himself over where exactly to take Freddie for their first date – he wants to do it properly, dress up and go to the kind of restaurant where the menus don’t have prices on and even he hasn’t heard of half the wines on offer. He’d worried that taking Freddie to a place like that might be coming on too strong, but in the end he squashed that quiet critical voice. He _likes_ Freddie. He wants to treat him.

Alex, his driver, pulls the car up to the kerb outside a four-storey block of flats, lights dotted at various windows. Brian glances down at his phone and reads, for the twentieth time, the address Freddie’s given him.

His thumb hesitates over the ‘call’ button.

“Screw it,” he mutters to himself. Alex looks at him in the mirror, completely unsurprised by the sight of Brian opening the car door and getting out. He’d offered to go and collect Freddie himself, when Brian told him where they were going, but after all their time together he knows what Brian is like. He likes to do things his way.

There’s nobody about outside as Brian quickly makes his way down the gravel path to the main entrance of the block of flats, but he’s immediately stumped by the security pad on the door. Freddie is 3B, he knows he is, but he doesn’t want to ring up to be let in. He wants to surprise Freddie.

He loiters awkwardly in the shadows, cursing himself for his lack of foresight and debating whether he should just get back in the car and call Freddie. He just looks creepy like this, he knows it.

Before he can, a couple of kids come stomping down the stairwell inside. Brian relaxes but keeps his head down, not wanting to cause a scene; he mutters his thanks as they open the door and heads inside. He thinks one of them gives him a look as they pass, like he knows Brian from somewhere, but Brian is up the stairs and gone before the kid can say anything.

He goes up two narrow staircases until he gets to Freddie’s floor, then stops and looks around.

He doesn’t even need to read the number on the door to know which one is Freddie’s. He can hear a _Meteor_ song – one of his own favourites – playing softly from inside.

For a brief moment, Brian feels suddenly absurdly nervous.

He steps over to the door and knocks before he can back out.

He waits, but no-one answers; he can hear voices from inside and has to bite back a wry grin when he realises they probably can’t hear him over his own bloody music, so he knocks again, louder this time.

“Just a minute!” yells a voice that isn’t Freddie’s; there’s a scuffling sound behind the door, accompanied by irate muttering, and then it swings open, revealing Freddie’s blonde friend from that first night at the stadium.

“Listen, it’s not even loud so if it’s that you’ve come to bitch about – ” he begins before the door is even halfway open, only to stop very abruptly when he realises who it is.

“Hello again,” says Brian politely.

“Uh, hello,” says the blonde weakly. He stares at Brian gormlessly for a second or two before he catches himself. “I – um, come in.”

Brian does; there’s not much room in the cramped little hallway as Freddie’s friend shuts the door behind him and there are shoes _everywhere_, tossed haphazardly all over the floor. That’s the source of the scuffling noise, Brian realises; the blonde was trying to kick them out of the way of the door.

Freddie’s friend dithers hopelessly for a moment. Brian gets the impression he isn’t the sort of person who usually dithers a lot and tries not to enjoy it too much, though it’s hard – the kid’s face really is a picture.

“He’s not quite ready,” he says when he finally finds his tongue again, “I have been telling him to hurry up but he’s… well, he’s Freddie.”

“That’s fine.” Freddie has made one or two comments about his own timekeeping skills over text that made Brian think he probably ought to make the reservation a bit later than he normally would. “There’s no rush.” He glances around. “Where is he?”

“In his room,” the blonde says, surreptitiously toeing yet another shoe out of Brian’s path. “Sorry, he couldn’t make up his mind which pair he wanted to wear,” he adds when he sees Brian’s eyes follow the movement. “We’re not normally this upside down.”

Brian suspects that is, in fact, a lie.

“You can sit down in there if you want,” Freddie’s friend says, pointing through an open doorway. Brian can spy a small living room beyond. “I’ll just go and… um.” He offers Brian a sheepish smile and then all but flees, presumably to scream at Freddie to get out here and deal with the random rockstar who has turned up in their flat.

Brian picks his way through to the living room and sits down on their sofa. There are signs of Freddie everywhere – he’s only met him twice but he thinks he can tell what belongs to Freddie and what belongs to his friend. The art materials heaped on the tiny table in the open plan kitchen, the stack of silver bangles scattered across the coffee table, a fridge magnet that reads _I’d rather be at home with my cat_ (not that he can actually see a cat anywhere – he did check the sofa beneath him carefully before he sat down).

Before he can hunt out the feline that may or may not exist, Freddie comes barrelling into the room, his friend half a step behind him. He’s dressed, mostly – smart black trousers and a soft shimmery shirt that’s half tucked in, barefoot. His hair is in disarray and there’s a hairbrush in his hand, which he uses to point at Brian.

“You said you were going to text me!” he screeches.

Brian grins. “I did,” he says easily, “I text you when I set off.”

“I thought you were going to text me when you were here!”

Brian weighs his phone in his hand. “I can do, if you’d like?” he asks innocently.

“I’m not _ready_!” Freddie wails, throwing the brush down on the sofa. His friend gives him a pointed kick and he immediately quietens, a flush rising on his cheeks. “Oh god, I’m – I’m not ready and you’re sat here in my living room, you’re here, in my living room, and – ” He stops suddenly and gives Brian a tragic look that honestly worries Brian for half a second, like Freddie is going to tell him he has to leave right this instant.

“Did you see all the shoes?” he whispers instead.

Brian just laughs, albeit a bit of a relieved laugh, and his friend groans behind him.

“Fred, of course he saw all your bloody shoes, you barricaded the bloody door with them.”

“They’re not all mine,” Freddie says quickly. His friend snorts.

Brian shrugs. “Nothing wrong with a bit of retail therapy,” he says, partly to reassure Freddie and partly because he can’t exactly judge. He’s been in _Meteor_ for just over a decade, now; he’s been through the wild spending and partying phases and back again, but he can’t exactly judge Freddie for having a bit of an obsession with buying shoes.

He says as much and Freddie’s friend laughs darkly. “Oh, if only it were just shoes,” he says.

“Roger, be a dear and get lost,” Freddie says.

Roger rolls his eyes but takes the hint, if it can be called that. Freddie looks at Brian once he’s gone.

“Sorry,” he says. “About the mess and – ”

“Freddie,” Brian interrupts, but gently. “It’s _fine_. Honestly.”

He stands up. Freddie looks up at him, that flush still on his cheeks but quieter, calmer now. The moment feels right; Brian takes another step, closing the distance between them, and takes Freddie’s hands in his.

Freddie’s fingers feel warm against his own. Brian gives his hands a little squeeze. This close, he can see how Freddie’s pupils have blown when he looks up at Brian.

Brian leans his head down just slightly, but he wants to do this _right_ so he stops with a tiny bit of distance still between them.

“Can I?” he asks softly.

Freddie doesn’t take his eyes off him, nodding slowly. Brian leans in that little bit further and kisses Freddie gently on the mouth.

It’s sweet and chaste and he stays there until he feels Freddie relax into him with a little sigh. Then he pulls back, still holding Freddie’s hands.

“You look wonderful,” Brian says sincerely.

Freddie smiles at him shyly. For a second Brian thinks he’s going to contest it but then he says, “Thank you.”

Brian’s smile grows. “You’re welcome.”

-

Once Freddie has relaxed into Brian’s company he chatters away, taking his time getting ready once Brian reassures him he doesn’t have to rush to make their reservation. He groans in embarrassment when Brian teases him about booking a late table just for him and his tardiness, and he goes a bit shy when they finally go back down to where Alex is waiting with the car, but he soon perks up again when Brian starts dropping hints about the name of the restaurant they’re going to.

There’s a moment when Brian thinks he might have misjudged the date, or the venue for it at least, when he finally tells Freddie the name and Freddie’s smile falters.

“Don’t you like it there?” he asks, concerned.

Freddie gives a nervous little laugh. “Oh, Brian, it’s not like I’ve ever been there, I’m sure it’s so lovely, but isn’t it a little – ”

Brian knows what he’s thinking; they’ve already bickered about this over text, Freddie insisting that he’ll pay his share, Brian insisting that he absolutely won’t. Brian won, obviously, because he never would have chosen this restaurant if Freddie had to fork out for it, and because he’s got so much money it’s ridiculous, almost shameful. He wants to spend it on good experiences for good people and Freddie is definitely that.

“Hey,” Brian says, catching his hand. He entwines their fingers. “We agreed, didn’t we? My treat. Don’t worry about it, please.”

Freddie looks at him for a long moment. The streetlights that they pass keep illuminating his face and then plunging it into shadow in a steady rhythm, but even so Brian can read the hesitation on his face and then finally the resignation.

“Fine,” he says.

Brian brings Freddie’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles just to get him to laugh. It works; the moment passes. By the time Alex drops them off at the restaurant, Freddie is smiling again.

Brian puts his arm around Freddie’s shoulders as he walks them inside. Freddie fits neatly, tucked in close to his side. He giggles about the fact that Brian doesn’t have to say a word before the staff are falling over themselves to guide him to his table and Brian can tell he’s trying not to look too delighted when a waiter pulls his chair out for him with a respectful, “After you, sir.”

Brian checks what Freddie would like to drink this time, remembering the beer incident, and ends up ordering a bottle of their best red and white too when neither of them can make up their mind what they want.

They take ages perusing the menu, laughing together over failed attempts to pronounce French names for dishes. Freddie orders a mushroom risotto and then laughs at Brian for being a vegetarian who hates mushrooms, which, he says, is just plain _weird_. Brian pretends to take Freddie’s glass away from him and they both snicker like schoolboys when he accidentally spills a tiny splash on the tablecloth in doing so, looking around conspiratorially as though anyone would dare kick Brian May out of the restaurant.

It’s easy. It’s natural. It’s nicer than anything Brian’s experienced in a long time.

Towards the end of the meal, when Brian is chasing up the last of his crème brûlée, Freddie reaches across the table and puts his hand on top of Brian’s. It’s a small gesture, innocent as anything, sweeter than the sugar on Brian’s tongue.

It feels like it could mean everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes a sudden change of mind about sex, just in case that's likely to bother anyone. 
> 
> Merry Christmas!

Despite the fact that they’ve already bickered extensively over it and Brian definitely won, Freddie still squirms as Brian pays the bill. One meal at this restaurant costs about as much as Freddie and Roger’s monthly food bill.

He tries not to think about it, because they’ve had a lovely time and he doesn’t want it spoil it. It’s not like he can do anything about it, anyway, partly because he could never afford his half in the first place and partly because he knows Brian would never let him.

He sits back as Brian sorts it out, watching him as discreetly as he can – or at least, trying not to gawp like a lovelorn fanboy. It’s not a surprise to him, not in the least, after years watching Brian in interviews and collecting magazines and going to see _Meteor_ whenever he could, but Brian really is beautiful. It might not be surprising, but it’s still different, seeing him like this. Part of Freddie can’t believe he’s allowed to be here, on a date with Brian May.

An even bigger part of him can’t believe it’s so _easy_. They haven’t struggled for conversation; Freddie’s face is aching a bit, he’s smiled so much. And it’s mutual. Brian has laughed and laughed throughout the date, sincerely and openly, because for some unfathomable reason he seems to find Freddie funny and interesting and attractive.

Freddie knows he’s interesting if you’re into artsy individual types. He knows he can be funny when he feels comfortable in someone’s company. Some people find him attractive. The idea that Brian fits into all three of those categories is what blows his mind.

“What would you like to do now?” Brian asks as he puts away his wallet. A waiter hurries over with their coats as they stand; Brian takes both his and Freddie’s and helps Freddie into his before he shrugs his own coat on. “Alex can pick us up and take us somewhere else, if you’d like, or we could go for a walk somewhere?” He pauses, then adds, “Or you can go home, of course, if you’d like to, you don’t have to – ”

“A walk sounds lovely,” Freddie says. He can see a few heads turning to clock Brian, as they have done throughout the meal; so far they’ve avoided anyone interrupting them, but he suspects their luck won’t last that long if they head off to a bar or something.

Truth be told, he’s also quite keen to avoid Brian seeing how Freddie gets if he has any more alcohol, if at all possible. He’s pleasantly buzzy from the wine with the meal, but he’d really rather Brian didn’t see how flail-y and over-excited he can get if he takes it any further.

Brian looks pleased with his response; he fires off a quick text to Alex to let him know they won’t be needing a lift, then leads Freddie from the restaurant.

Freddie can sense more people watching as they leave. There’s a table of young women nudging each other and staring openly at Brian, and at Freddie by default. For a brief moment Freddie can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. Then he sees the expression of pure jealousy on the face of one of the women, a few years older than him and very pretty, and he quickly decides that in this moment at least, he loves it.

The warmth from the wine doesn’t last long when he steps outside and is immediately hit with a gust of frigid night air. It’s not quite cold enough to see his breath on the air, but it’s cold enough for Freddie to shiver hopelessly inside his coat as they turn away from the bars and restaurants of the city centre, heading for the riverside.

“Is this okay?” Brian checks, glancing down at Freddie as the embankment comes into view. It looks very pretty, strung up with the fairy lights that glitter along the river all year round. “I thought it might be a bit less busy.”

“It’s perfect,” Freddie says truthfully. There are a few people meandering along, couples mostly; it’s busy enough to feel safe whilst also giving them some privacy. “I thought you were going to get leapt on by one of those women in the restaurant.”

Brian laughs dryly. “I didn’t notice anyone in particular. I’ve been at this game for too long now, people all start to blend into one.”

_Except me?_ Freddie wants to say but doesn’t quite dare. “It must get tiring,” he says instead. “People staring all the time. Everyone wanting a piece of you.”

He feels a twinge of discomfort as he says it and tries to will it away, but it’s hard. He’s been one of those people for years, he thinks; nameless faces staring from a crowd. Him and Roger even tried to sneak backstage to find Brian when they knew they had no right.

Brian comes to a halt halfway across a bridge. He leans on the railing as though he’s going to look out across the view of the river stretching on into the night, but it’s Freddie that he looks at. There’s a shrewdness to his expression, like he knows what Freddie is thinking. Freddie quickly looks away, out across the water.

“It does,” Brian says slowly, after a long moment. “Get tiring, I mean. Mostly it’s the sense that people don’t actually know you and they want you to fit into this caricature that they’ve got in their heads. And you can never live up to that, so in that sense, you’re always a disappointment.”

Freddie makes a noise of agreement without taking his eyes away from the river. He regrets bringing it up; his face feels hot even though it’s cold. He doesn’t want to hear Brian say that Freddie doesn’t really know him, that Freddie never can know him, not really, because he’s a fan first and foremost. Brian might take him out, wine him and dine him and possibly – probably? – fuck him, but that’s never going to change.

“It’s the lack of meaningful connections that have always got to me,” Brian continues. “The idea that they admire you, or the music – which is lovely, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it – but it doesn’t ever really feel personal. It’s not the same as finding out more about a person, what makes them tick. And it works both ways.”

Freddie isn’t expecting it, so he starts when Brian’s hand slips into his. Brian tugs on his hand gently, manoeuvring him around until Freddie is facing him. His eyes are gentle and warm as he looks at Freddie and Freddie feels like his heart might just beat out of his chest.

“That’s what feels so different with you,” Brian says quietly. “It feels like you want to know me as a human being, not just a famous musician.”

“I do,” Freddie manages to say, somehow, though his tongue feels like it’s tied itself into knots. “I really do.”

Brian smiles at him. It’s not a smile Freddie has ever seen on his face before – not a photoshoot smile or an interview smile or a smile for crowds of fans. It strikes Freddie that this is a smile just for _Freddie_, and that’s him done for.

He initiates the kiss this time. He has to stretch onto his tiptoes because Brian is so tall and his lips are slightly numb with cold but he doesn’t think about that. He just kisses Brian softly, then again because he doesn’t want to stop, and again because he doesn’t think he will ever want to stop. Brian’s hands come up to cup the sides of Freddie’s face, surprisingly warm against his skin, and when Freddie finally pulls back Brian doesn’t let go of him, keeping him close.

“You’re shivering,” Brian murmurs. Freddie actually suspects that by now his shivering is less cold-induced and more I-just-kissed-Brian-induced, but he isn’t going to admit that. “Do you want to come back to my hotel?”

Freddie does. He really, really does.

“Is your hotel room nice and warm?” he asks instead of admitting that.

Brian laughs. He lets go of Freddie, but not until he’s pressed a quick kiss to Freddie’s forehead, like he can’t resist being able to touch him just a little bit more. Freddie understands the feeling very well.

-

Brian’s hotel room is less of a room and more of an entire suite, which Freddie should have expected, but the sheer size of it still takes him by surprise.

He has a wander round whilst Brian hangs their coats up, trying and failing to look like he’s used to this kind of quality. The thought crosses his mind that this suite is bigger than his whole flat, but he doesn’t voice it.

The bedding looks so luxurious, a deep maroon satin; Freddie can’t resist running his hand over it just to feel how smooth it is under his palm. When he looks up he finds Brian watching him with a look on his face that can only be described as hungry.

Brian quickly crosses over to him and before Freddie knows what’s happening they’re kissing again, Brian’s mouth firm against his. Brian backs him against the bed until Freddie feels it against the backs of his knees and relaxes into it, bring them both down onto the mattress.

He can barely form a coherent thought and isn’t sure he wants to – it feels too good just going with the flow like this, kissing Brian until they’re both breathless.

When Brian eventually breaks off the kiss he gives a little huff of laughter and Freddie sees why – his ridiculously legs are dangling awkwardly off the edge of the bed. They giggle hopelessly together as they wriggle further up the bed until they’re resting on the pillows.

Brian hooks a finger under Freddie’s chin to bring their faces together again, but this time when he kisses Freddie he doesn’t stop at his mouth; he moves down, kissing along Freddie’s jaw and down to his neck.

Freddie is so hard it’s embarrassing, but not quite as embarrassing as the tiny whimper that escapes when Brian sucks a mark onto the exposed skin of his throat. He winces at himself but Brian doesn’t give him time to dwell on it, pressing kiss after kiss to Freddie’s throat until his mouth is against Freddie’s collarbone and the buttons of Freddie’s shirt are grazing his cheek.

He draws back then and Freddie has to hold back another embarrassing noise at the sight of Brian like this, lips swollen and eyes dark. He strokes Freddie’s cheek, cups it so that Freddie leans into his touch.

“Can I?” he asks. His other hand trails down to Freddie’s chest, his fingers tracing the buttons.

Freddie nods, reaching out for Brian’s shirt too – but Brian stops him, quickly collecting Freddie’s hand up in his own. He grins at Freddie’s outraged pout.

“Patience,” he teases, setting Freddie’s hand on the duvet beside them.

He starts to unbutton Freddie’s shirt with nimble fingers. Freddie has to swallow as he watches them. He’s had a truly ridiculous amount of fantasies about those fingers and he squirms a bit at the thought.

“Gorgeous,” Brian murmurs to himself as he strips Freddie’s shirt off. “Look at you.”

“How about I look at you instead?” Freddie says hopefully, reaching for Brian’s shirt again.

This time Brian grabs one of Freddie’s hands in each of his, but he doesn’t stop there – he climbs on top of Freddie until Freddie is lying under him and Brian is looming over him. He pins Freddie’s hands by his head and grins down at him, wolfish.

Freddie swallows.

“Patience,” Brian reminds him smugly. He doesn’t let go of Freddie’s hands as he dips his head and begins to kiss his way down Freddie’s chest.

Freddie releases a shaky breath but doesn’t make another attempt to undress Brian, lying as still as he can, though he can’t help but squirm when Brian mouths lightly at his nipples and bites gently at his stomach.

“Good boy,” Brian murmurs against his skin. Freddie stares very hard at the ceiling and tells himself with great determination that he is not going to come in his pants just from Brian (_Brian May!!!!_) saying those words in that voice.

Brian has just started to play with Freddie’s waistband when he suddenly stops. At first Freddie thinks he’s teasing again, but then Brian lifts his head.

“I didn’t offer you another drink,” he says out of the blue, “sorry, did you want - ?”

Freddie can’t believe it and before he can stop himself, he’s growled out, “_Brian_,” in a tone of voice which quite clearly conveys exactly what he thinks of Brian stopping like this.

Brian flashes him a quick, sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he says again, “it just occurred to me.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about another drink,” Freddie says primly.

Brian snorts at that but gets the message, ducking his head back down. He kisses down from Freddie’s belly button, lingering over his hipbones, before his fingers come up again to play with Freddie’s waistband again, popping the button open and easing them down.

Freddie is hyper-aware that within moments he’s going to be nearly naked whilst Brian is still fully clothed and as much as he wants to see Brian undress, he can admit that he’s more turned on than ever. This feels like every fantasy he’s ever had, turned reality; Brian is going to fuck him, he knows it, he could feel it in Brian’s kisses and can see it in the intent in Brian’s eyes.

Brian pulls Freddie’s trousers off him and Freddie kicks his shoes and socks off too. The atmosphere feels like it’s getting heavier with every second but neither of them speak; Brian just stares down at Freddie, naked but for his underwear, and Freddie watches Brian watching him.

Brian seems to be in no rush; he settles to kissing Freddie again, this time letting his clothed hips brush against Freddie’s repeatedly in a way which leaves Freddie sweating and desperate under him, his own hips lifting up off the bed of their own accord to seek out more friction. Brian laughs softly into his mouth; he lets him, but his hands have settled firmly onto Freddie’s wrists again, keeping him in place.

“I’ve got lube and condoms,” he says between kisses, “do you want to stay?”

_Yes_, Freddie’s body says, and he opens his mouth to voice it – then closes it, struck by a flood of sudden doubt.

He wants this. He wants this more than he can say, there isn’t a part of him that doesn’t want this.

And yet… if this happens now, who is to say he’ll ever see Brian again?

They’ve had a wonderful time tonight, but Brian hasn’t mentioned a second date, and unbidden, Roger’s voice floats through Freddie’s mind: _he’ll just be wanting sex, right?_

Freddie knows he has no right to expect anything more of Brian – Brian has hardly asked Freddie to be in a relationship with him, they’ve only been on one date, after all.

But if Freddie has sex with him now, if he lets Brian fuck him, he just knows this will be the end of it. A lovely date and fantastic sex; more than he ever expected to get.

But it doesn’t feel like enough, now.

Brian, suddenly wary at Freddie’s silence, pulls back. “Freddie?” he checks, cautious.

“I – sorry, darling, I’m not sure I – ”

Brian moves immediately, clambering off Freddie. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, or - ?”

“No, no, not at all, you didn’t do anything, I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m – ” Freddie can hear a tremble in his own voice and hates it, hates himself, immediately sitting up to reach for Brian when Brian pulls back. Freddie makes himself take a deep breath to settle his nerves, and says, more calmly, “You didn’t do anything, I’m fine. I’m just… not sure I want to have sex.”

“That’s fine,” Brian says at once, “I’m sorry if I pushed you – ”

“You didn’t,” Freddie says. “I promise.”

Brian looks relieved. He finally comes close enough for Freddie to touch him and Freddie immediately pulls him closer, burrowing himself against Brian’s chest. Brian puts his arms around him. After a moment, he kisses the top of Freddie’s head.

He’s totally ruined the moment, he knows it, but Brian is being so lovely about it and Freddie slowly relaxes as they just sit together, curled up close.

“Sorry,” he says at last, pushing on when Brian immediately goes to hush him, “I thought I wanted it but I… I just didn’t feel ready.”

Brian just gives him a little squeeze. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he says gently. “I never want to hurt you, Freddie.”

Freddie feels terrible, because he’s not being honest with Brian, not really; he’s trying to cling onto him to drag this out for his own benefit, trying to make Brian see him again. But he can’t possibly say that, so he just presses his face into Brian’s chest and tries to hold onto the moment, here with him.

Brian cuddles him for a long while. When he finally moves, it’s to go and fetch Freddie something else to wear, because his dress shirt is lying crumpled at the bottom of the bed. He brings Freddie a soft, faded old t-shirt that Freddie is embarrassed to realise he recognises from some of the pictures of Brian he may or may not have stuck to some of his folders back at school.

It smells of Brian when he puts it on and it hangs down to his thighs. For a second, he almost gives in to feeling ridiculous, but then Brian tells him he might just be the cutest thing Brian has ever seen, and it’s hard to feel ridiculous after that. 

Brian orders a drink for them both from room service - a hot chocolate, of all things, which Freddie is initially surprised by but then realises might actually be a stroke of genius. It’s hard to hold onto any tension when they’re leaning back on the pillows together, nursing a steaming mug of chocolate each.

“You can stay, if you’d like to,” Brian offers when they’ve finished and Freddie has pulled his creased trousers back on. “Or Alex can take you home. It’s up to you, no pressure.”

“I’d better get back,” Freddie says regretfully. “Thank you, though. For everything. It’s been lovely.”

“You’re lovely,” Brian says simply. “And I would love to see you again, if you’d like that.”

“I’d love to,” Freddie says, relieved and trying his best not to show it. “Can I choose the date this time?”

“Of course.” He leans in and presses a chocolate-warm kiss to Freddie’s lips. “I look forward to it.”


	6. Chapter 6

Brian’s schedule gets a little hectic from that point and the earliest they manage to schedule in their next date is in ten days’ time.

It’s odd, in a sense, having life continue as normal, like meeting Brian and going out with him should have put a stop to all that. Here he is, leading his every day life at the same old job in the same old flat, when Brian is out there with Freddie’s number on his phone and a little note in his phone calendar marked ‘_Date with F!’_ (he knows because Brian sent him a screenshot of it complete with a smiley face which just about gave Freddie heart palpitations).

Brian is full of apologies for the delay and sends Freddie texts every day, updating him on what he’s been up to and asking about Freddie’s day. He keeps dropping little hints about the upcoming date, obviously not used to being kept in the dark about anything. Freddie has given him a time and agreed to let Alex pick him up again, but he hasn’t told Brian the venue yet and has no intention of doing so until they arrive outside. He was full of confidence when he booked a table for them, certain that Brian would love it, but he feels considerably _less_ confident now that he’s got a famous rock star pestering him to find out where Freddie is taking him. He thinks Roger’s head might just explode if Freddie attempts to run the pros and cons of his date idea past him again though, so he’s just going to have to go along with it and hope for the best.

It’s ridiculous but entirely expected when Freddie finds himself pining after Brian less than three days into the ten. He’s been a goner for Brian May for years. Actually going on a date with Brian May was never going to help matters.

He still gets excited every time Brian texts him, which means that he spends much of his time doing happy little twitches when he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket at work, because Brian texts him a _lot_.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. Freddie isn’t sure what piques their curiosity at first; it could be the frequent text alerts (his phone is never on silent though Mary reminds him at least ten times a week, with growing exasperation, that he’s not even meant to have his phone on him on the shop floor) or the stupid smile he just _knows_ spreads across his face when he sees Brian’s name. Either way, their idle curiosity soon turns into a determined campaign to discover the identity of the mystery texter when Freddie doesn’t immediately tell them. He’s never usually one to hold back and according to store room gossip, his newfound shyness means that either Freddie is hopelessly in love with the texter, or he’s ugly.

Freddie just laughs when he hears. He knows for a fact that at least two of the girls in his team think Brian is very attractive. Working with Freddie makes it very hard to avoid discussions of _Meteor_ entirely; he has spent several happy break times gushing over photoshoots or interviews (and occasionally lecturing bleary-eyed colleagues on minute aspects of the band’s discography, as the mood takes him).

Dominique concocts a plan to have Phoebe hold him down whilst she tickles the answer out of him, but Phoebe, bless his heart, just rolls his eyes at her and tells her to leave Freddie be.

That immediately makes Freddie want to tell Phoebe, because truth be told he’s dying to tell _someone_, but so far he has managed to resist.

He’s not entirely sure why he’s being so secretive. It’s not like Brian has asked him not to tell anyone, and Freddie has admittedly spared very few details when telling Roger how everything is going, but that’s because Roger knows everything already; he was there when they met, and he lives with Freddie, it’s hardly realistic to keep something like this from him even if Freddie had wanted to. And he doesn’t want to – it’s a relief to have someone who he can talk to about everything, even if he’s fairly sure he owes Roger a bottle of good wine on pay day for putting up with him over the past couple of weeks.

Then there’s the simple fact that the truth is hard to believe. If Dominique asked him who the mystery texter was and Freddie replied, “Brian May,” she would just laugh at him and assume it’s a joke. Freddie wouldn’t know how to begin to explain that the situation is real.

He’s also fairly sure that the level of incredulity once they realised he was telling the truth would be borderline offensive, but he generally tries not to think about that.

He has work the day before his date with Brian and it drags, of course; he’s on a late shift so he got a bit of a lie-in at least, but as soon as he arrives he can tell it’s going to be the kind of day that goes on and on. There are barely any customers for the first three hours which leads to a lot of aimless standing around and staring into space, because he’s on with John and Phoebe so there’s no-one breathing down his neck and insisting that he find ways to look busy even when he’s really not.

He’s immensely relieved when his lunch break finally rolls around and he can’t help the automatic smile when he checks his phone and finds a text from Brian waiting to be read. Predictably, it’s a last minute plea to find out the location of tomorrow’s date.

_You’re really not very good at not knowing things are you?! xxx_

_I like to be prepared!!! X_

_Should I take pity on you? xxx_

_Please do, evil man x_

_It’s nothing too exciting just a little café I like xxx_

_That sounds lovely, Freddie. I’m really looking forward to it x_

Freddie has to take a moment to give himself a stern talking to at that. Just because Brian used his name in a text – a simple, four word text – is no reason to blush.

_I hope you’ll like it! Has today been very busy? xxx_

_A bit quieter than the rest of the week but we’ve got a meal tonight with some execs from our record label. Boring stuff really, wish I didn’t have to be bothered with it but all part of the game x_

_I’m trying really hard not to make some sad little comment about how exciting I think that sounds xxx_

_Trust me, it’s just a lot of people talking themselves up. I’d much rather be at dinner with you x_

_You’re a sweet talker xxx_

_You’re sweet x_

_You’re making me blush! My colleagues will wonder what’s up with me xxx_

_How is work today? x_

_The usual. Boring! xxx_

_You know, you’ve never actually told me where it is you work… x_

_Because it’s very boring! Nothing as exciting as your job, not worth talking about xxx_

_I like talking about you. I’ll tease it out of you tomorrow! X_

_We’ll see xxx_

-

Freddie is, blessedly, ready this time when Brian arrives at the flat to pick him up; he hovers by the window for a good fifteen minutes until he sees the Jaguar pull up, and then he hares it down the stairs so that he can intercept Brian before he can find the flat in its usual state of disarray (again), which today happens to include Roger sleeping off a hangover on the sofa, wearing only a pair of pants.

They meet just outside the flat. Brian looks impossibly handsome in the casual clothes Freddie requested and Freddie’s heart gives a hopeless little leap at the sight of him.

Then it gives another, considerably bigger leap, because Brian wastes no time in pulling Freddie in for a kiss before he ushers him into the car.

He laughs when Freddie gives Alex a street address. “Not giving anything more away, are you?”

“I have my sense of mystery to keep up.” Freddie glance at him, feeling a bit shy all over again. “You might think it’s a bit – erm, weird, actually, but I quite like it there, me and Roger have been a couple of times and I thought – ”

“I’ll love it,” Brian says firmly, in that way of his, like he can make anything happen just by stating it to be so.

And to Freddie’s immense relief, he really does seem to love it; when the car pulls up outside the café and Brian looks outside at the sign, he lets out a genuine laugh that has Freddie grinning like a fool in the seat beside him.

**MR BAD GUY’S CAT CAFE**

“I should have known,” Brian says fondly as he helps Freddie out of the car.

“Should have known that it would be a crazy cat man date?”

“That it would be a very _Freddie_ date,” Brian corrects. He puts his arm around Freddie as they walk inside.

A girl leaning by a counter in the entrance glances up as the bell jingles to announce their arrival. “Hello, welcome to Mr Bad Guy’s Cat Café, home of feline – ” she begins before her eyes actually take in who is standing in front of her and her jaw visibly drops.

Brian just smiles pleasantly. “Hello,” he says.

Freddie tries not to look too smug as the girl stammers her way through the rest of her introduction, but it’s hard. She’s gone bright red, bless her, and one of the baristas by the coffee machine at the far side of the café is openly gawping. It’s fairly busy inside and some of the people seated at the tables haven’t noticed, absorbed in their own conversation, but nevertheless there are still quite a few eyes on them as Brian and Freddie are led to their own table in a sunny spot by the window, underneath an enormous cat tunnel attached to the wall.

“Mr Bad Guy?” Brian questions as they sit down.

“One of the cats,” Freddie says. “The first one they had, I think, he inspired the owners to open the café in the first place.” He points out a tiny black cat in the corner, snoozing on a fish-patterned cushion.

“He looks the furthest thing from a bad guy I’ve ever seen,” Brian says with a snort.

He looks around with clear interest, taking in all the cat toys scattered around. There’s an intricate maze of planks and posts and ropes set up across the ceiling and down most of the walls, creating plenty of spaces for cats to climb and play and hide if they want to. A few of them are perched up high, watching the humans below with a suspicious eye, but there’s more of them on the ground level, lazing about or playing idly with cat wands and toys on strings.

A large ginger cat approaches them and Brian leans down to scratch behind its ears. There’s a little booklet on their table giving them information on different cats’ names and personalities, so Freddie picks it up and flips through it.

“That one’s called The Gingerbread Man,” he says. “Apparently.”

“Great name.” Brian straightens up and smiles at Freddie. “This was such a good idea, I’ve never been anywhere like this.”

Freddie smiles back, then quickly directs his gaze back towards the booklet, well aware that he’s on the verge of beaming like a loon. He loves the idea that he’s managed to surprise Brian and show him something new – Brian, who has it all, the money, the fame, the incredible career. More than that, he loves how Brian seems genuinely delighted by his choice.

They deliberate over what cake to order and end up sharing a couple of slices anyway with tea which rapidly cools between them as they talk. Brian goes into more detail on his week of meetings and discussion for the next album, laughing when Freddie can’t quite contain his excitement. They’ve talked about _Meteor_ before, of course, but Freddie always has thoughts and opinions on the music to share, and Brian makes him feel like he’s allowed to share them – so he does, enthusiastically, until Brian tells him that he reckons Freddie should become their new manager because he’s definitely a lot more clued up on the band’s identity and the sound they’re striving for.

Freddie grins at him. “Don’t say that or the next thing you’ll know, I’ll be quitting my job and asking you when my new start date is.”

Given that, he really shouldn’t be surprised when Brian’s face immediately lights. “That reminds me,” he says, “this job of yours, what is it?”

Freddie groans, putting his face in his hands. “It’s boring, that’s what it is,” he says, but Brian leans forward, his gaze earnest.

“I’m _interested_ in you, Freddie,” he says. “I like talking about you, about your day and what you’ve been doing at work. _You’re_ interesting.”

Freddie eyes him dubiously, but sighs and gives in. “I’m just a shop assistant, that’s all.”

“What shop?”

“Biba. We have a section in Debenhams.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Brian teases, but he really doesn’t seem disappointed in the fact that Freddie doesn’t have anything more _interesting_ to offer him – he just asks what it’s like, about Freddie’s colleagues and the shop in general.

Before Freddie knows it he’s launched into an elaborate story about the best (worst) customer experience he’s ever had, which involves a 50-something-year-old woman and a truly brilliant rugby tackle performed by a security guard. Brian throws back his head and roars with laughter and Freddie actually has tears in his eyes by the end of the tale, and if people are still staring at them, neither of them notice.

-

There are more dates after that. There’s a trip out of the city to a nature reserve (Freddie wears trainers which go from white to brown within the first five minutes and ends up having to be physically carried across a flooded path, which he assumes will be mortifying but actually turns out to be very enjoyable); they go to see a film together and not one person seems to recognise Brian, which thrills him; there’s another meal out and a disastrous but hilarious crazy golf incident. After that, Freddie bites the bullet, kicks Roger out for the evening and invites Brian back to the (carefully tidied) flat, though he doesn’t quite dare cook for him and instead orders a takeaway in. They spend the evening cuddling on the sofa and Freddie thinks it’s quite possibly the happiest he’s ever been.

Their next date is going to be at the seaside, Brian says; he’s taken it into his head that it’s been too long since he saw the sea, and Freddie quite fancies the idea of strolling hand-in-hand along a quaint little pier.

They haven’t slept together yet. There have been a few moments where Freddie has wondered, especially when they were together on the sofa, Freddie’s bedroom just a few metres away. He _wants_ Brian, thinks about it all the time, but some part of him still shies away, terrified of losing what they have. He’ll have to grapple with that demon at some point, because he knows Brian likes him, knows realistically it’s not just about sex. But not yet, he tells himself every time he considers it. Not yet.

He’s content. He can’t quite believe his luck, still marvels at the sight of Brian’s hand in his, but they seem to fit together so naturally. It’s a joy he never thought he would ever get to experience.

_Meteor’s_ tour is over but the band still takes Brian all over the place, from city to city. He lives in a much larger world than Freddie but so far he's been good at keeping in touch, to Freddie's relief.

They’ve been seeing each other for nearly three months when album prep takes Brian over to Germany for a couple of weeks. There is every chance that Freddie is slightly heartbroken by the concept of a fortnight without Brian, but he tries his best to seem cool and unaffected when Brian gives him a goodbye kiss before heading off.

The slightly amused grin Brian shoots him as he gets in the car indicates that he can see right through Freddie’s pretence, but that’s neither here nor there.

Thus begins the longest two weeks of Freddie’s life.

It takes approximately three and a half days for Roger to throw a cushion at his head and call him a mopey bastard; after six days, Phoebe corners him in the backroom and asks him he’s okay. He agrees to go out for some drinks with the girls from work, which provides some distraction in the form of Mary’s gossip about an employee/manager romance going off in the Oasis section of Debenhams. He visits his family for something to do one and a half weeks in, only for them to quiz him on his love life, and by the time twelve Brian-free days have passed, Freddie is quite convinced that no human in the history of the world has ever missed somebody else quite so much as he misses Brian.

He’s grumpy at work, grunting at colleagues and only managing a slightly more civil response for customers. When this shift is over, he thinks, he is going to pick up a bottle of something that he definitely cannot afford, and he is going to watch one of the _Meteor_ concert DVDs that he hid from Brian when he came round.

There’s a stock list in front of him on the counter that he’s scanned about three times without actually taking in. It’s been fairly busy all day and he really should get a move on with getting this stock out in the brief reprieve they’ve got, but his heart just isn’t in it. He stares blankly down at the sheet and sighs, then begins to read it for a fourth time, forcing himself to pay more attention.

Before he can get beyond the first page, there’s a little scream from behind him and Dominique suddenly grabs his arm so tightly it hurts.

“_Dom_!” Freddie yelps, turning to shake her off. She’s staring at something behind him, eyes huge, and barely seems to realise she’s still got a vice-like grip on Freddie’s arm.

“Oh my god, Brian May!” she gasps.

“Hello, you,” says a very familiar voice.

Freddie turns back around very slowly. Sure enough, Brian is standing there, grinning like the cat who got the cream at the sight of Freddie’s stunned face.

Brian. Behind the counter. In Freddie’s workplace. Customers staring. Colleagues staring.

Freddie, very definitely staring. _In his work clothes._

Freddie is vaguely aware that if a manager finds out he’s probably going to get fired, but there’s only one thing to say when three months of secretly dating a rock star suddenly catch up with you very publicly.

“Oh, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: the cat café date was inspired by a date that I took someone on (except none of the cats would come near me and I think everyone thought I was evil and it was *traumatic*)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! Sorry this took ages.

“Oh, fuck,” Freddie says.

“Is that how you greet all your customers?” Brian asks.

Freddie just continues to gawp at him. The pretty young woman beside him, the one who noticed Brian to begin with, is still clutching Freddie’s arm. She’s staring too but she comes to her senses before Freddie, her gaze wrenching away from Brian’s face to dart back-and-forth between him and Freddie.

“Do you – ” She stops and inhales deeply, as though this revelation is simply too big to be contained in one breath. “Do you _know _each other?”

Brian very much wants to say that Freddie is his boyfriend but they haven’t had that conversation yet and he thinks he probably shouldn’t spring that on Freddie, on top of everything else. So he just smiles pleasantly at her and inclines his head. “We do.”

She turns enormous, betrayed brown eyes on Freddie. “And you didn’t think to _say?_”

“Slipped my mind,” says Freddie faintly.

It’s the most coherent thing he’s said since Brian walked in, at least. Brian can’t resist giving him a quick once over, well aware that he’s starting to grin again. Freddie looks ridiculously cute in his work uniform, all sweet and proper in his crisp white shirt with his name tag perched on his chest. Brian would very much like to rip it off him, but he masterfully ignores the urge.

People have started to notice him by now – Biba wasn’t busy when he came in but people have started to drift closer and gather to see what the fuss is about, and it isn’t long before Brian hears the tell-tale snatches conversation that have followed him round for years now. 

“Is that – ”

“Oh my god, it _is_ – ”

“Get your phone, we need a selfie!”

“Brian? Brian May?”

“What is he doing here? Quick, get his attention – ”

Brian clears his throat and carefully does not look behind him. “Is there somewhere quiet we could go?”

The sight of the crowd gathering behind Brian seems to jolt Freddie into action at long last. He looks at them and narrows his eyes, which delights Brian more than he wants to admit, then looks at Brian properly at last. He’s flushed from the surprise but he’s got a little smile on his face now, equal parts exasperated and bashful.

“This way,” he says, indicating a door just behind the tills. He gestures for Brian to go first; Brian complies gladly, well aware that he’s milliseconds from someone laying a hand on his arm and asking for an autograph – and once that happens, he’ll be stuck on Biba’s shop floor for the next forty minutes at least.

It’s very cramped in the backroom, barely enough space for a microwave, miniature fridge, kettle and a small table with three chairs tucked around it. There’s somebody already sitting at the table, a tall and mousy-haired man perhaps a few years older than Freddie; he gives Brian the same startled look of recognition that Brian sees everywhere he goes, and his eyebrows raise even higher when he sees Freddie behind Brian.

The girl tries to follow them in but Freddie rounds on her in the doorway.

“Customers waiting to be served, Dom,” he says pointedly.

She glares at him, but the crowd at the Biba tills are getting noisier now that Brian has escaped out of sight, calling for him to come back. She can’t deny that they need dealing with.

“Fine,” Dom says, but she lifts a finger and points it in Freddie’s face. “But you are going to tell me all about this later.”

Freddie just huffs and closes the door. He turns back to Brian, starting in surprise when he sees the other man sitting at the table.

“Hi,” the man says awkwardly.

Freddie looks between him and Brian and back again. “Um,” he says, by way of explanation.

“Hello,” says Brian, to try and help him out, “I’m Brian.”

“He knows that,” Freddie says weakly. “Um, this is – this is Phoebe, we work together – ”

Phoebe, bless him, stands up and begins to clear away his lunch even though Brian isn’t convinced he’d finished it. “I’ll be out of your hair in just a moment,” he says quickly as he bustles around the tiny space, “I don’t want to interrupt – ”

“Sorry, this is my fault,” Brian offers. “I surprised Freddie at work, I’m afraid I didn’t think about needing somewhere to – ”

“To hide,” Freddie finishes. “From the mad fans who follow him everywhere.”

Phoebe shoots Freddie an incredulous look which Freddie ignores and Brian reads perfectly. Pot, kettle, black. He smothers a laugh in a cough.

“I’ll go and help Dom sort it out,” Phoebe says, edging past them to get to the door.

“Thanks, Pheebs,” says Freddie gratefully, “I owe you one."

Phoebe just gives him a small smile. He opens the door and they hear a commotion outside which suggests that Dom hasn’t exactly got rid of the crowd, but instead has succeeded in riling them up. Then the door closes behind him again and muffles the clamouring crowd.

Brian wastes no time in crossing the polite distance he’d left between himself and Freddie. He pulls Freddie into his arms and Freddie melts into him just as he did the first time they embraced. Brian loves the feel of Freddie’s body against his, the way he has to stretch up onto his tiptoes in order to kiss Brian; everything about him drives Brian mad and Brian loves it, he can’t get enough. He kisses Freddie as surely and deeply as he’s been imagining every day they’ve been apart and relishes the tiny, needy noises that escape Freddie when he does.

There’s nobody here and no reason to stop, so they don’t. Brian’s hand slides down Freddie’s back and he can’t resist a quick grope of his arse, which makes Freddie groan into his mouth. Encouraged, Brian does it again, nudging Freddie back until he’s leaning against a wall. Brian cages him in with his arms and kisses him until they’re both panting, more worked up than is advisable for the backroom of Biba with Freddie’s colleagues and eager fans outside.

“Missed you,” Brian breathes when they finally part.

“Missed you too,” Freddie murmurs. His mouth is kissed red, his lips ever so slightly swollen, and Brian can’t stop staring.

He does, though, when Freddie raises a hand and flicks him on the nose. “But you’ve got a lot to answer for, now,” Freddie continues, cocking a stern eyebrow at him. “How on earth are you going to get out of here now that _that_ lot – “ He jerks his head towards the door “ – know you’re here?”

“Are you jealous?” Brian asks, smirking, because Freddie definitely is, even as he shakes his head to deny it. “You are, you’re jealous.” He puts a finger under Freddie’s chin and tips his face up to kiss him again.

“I’m not jealous,” Freddie grumbles, very jealously. “It’s just annoying, how they all want a piece of you – ”

“I’m here for _you_,” Brian says simply. “I’ll deal with them later. I had to come back early to see you, I missed you too much.”

Freddie gives him a small smile that’s almost shy and the sight of it makes Brian want to devour him. He sets to kissing him again and it doesn’t take long for the sweet edge to turn into something more primal and urgent, Brian’s knee slotting between Freddie’s legs until he’s practically supporting Freddie’s weight against the wall. And doesn’t _that _send his mind reeling.

He’ll wait as long as Freddie wants or needs but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it. He’s _always_ thinking about it. He thinks about Freddie stretched out under him, Freddie on his hands and knees in front of him, Freddie bent over the back of the sofa, Brian’s dressing table, a backstage amp. He thinks about Freddie so much that the rest of the band have noticed his distraction; Adam tried to prise it out of him on the plane over to Germany with a couple of beers, whilst Anita just gave him a shrewd look and asked, “Someone special?”

And Brian had said, “Yes,” because Freddie _is _special, Brian knows it. They haven’t been going out for very long but what he has with Freddie feels different to any relationship he’s ever had, even thinking back to the early days with Chrissie, and he really had thought she was the one.

Freddie is the one to break it off this time, albeit reluctantly. “I have to get back to work, Bri.”

“Mm, now I’m the jealous one. Your colleagues get to watch you walking round in this all day. It’s not fair.”

Freddie gives him a look. “Are you taking the piss?”

“No!” Brian protests. “I think you look incredible.”

“I look awful,” Freddie gripes, but after Brian’s kissed him senseless for a further five minutes he seems somewhat mollified at least.

“I’m serious,” Brian continues as soon as he has enough breath to do so, “I’d love to work at Biba just to watch you bending over in those tight trousers all the time.”

Freddie snorts, which spoils the mood somewhat. “I’m not convinced you’d love it,” he says dryly.

He pushes at Brian’s chest and Brian reluctantly steps back to let him go.

“Can I meet you after work?”

Freddie nods. “At mine?”

Brian smiles. Freddie has only invited him back to his place once before and Brian got the impression that he’d really had to work himself up to it, so he’s more than happy to be spontaneously invited back. “That sounds lovely. I can bring some food, what do you fancy?”

“Indian?” Freddie suggests. He has his back to him now, examining his reflection as best he can in the shiny kettle. He runs a hand over his hair to try and make it look like he hasn’t spent the last half hour being snogged thoroughly against a wall. He’s not entirely successful, which Brian is quietly pleased about.

“It’s a date.”

Freddie turns to him again and smiles. He comes over and gives Brian one last quick kiss, putting a hand on Brian’s shoulder to haul him off when Brian tries to deepen it.

“Later,” he promises. There’s a bit of a sparkle in his eyes which interests Brian _very _much, but for now he holds his hands up in surrender and lets Freddie lead the way outside to make his escape.

-

There’s a spring in his step as Brian makes his way to Freddie’s flat in the early evening. Part of it is anticipation and part of it, admittedly, is the thrill of just being _independent _for once – he’s given Alex the day off and he’s had a wonderfully normal day by his standards.

He’d escaped Biba with as little fuss as he could have hoped for, in the end - Phoebe and Dominique had managed to get rid of some of them and a few others had drifted away of their own accord, so there were only four people still hanging about hopefully by the time he emerged.

He thinks it’s possibly a little pathetic that he’s so delighted by the fact that he managed to walk into an Indian restaurant and order takeaway on his own, without needing someone there to hide him from curious eyes, but he can’t help it. It’s a breath of fresh air he could get used to.

As he heads up the stairs to Freddie’s flat, Brian takes off his beanie and hastily shakes his hair out. He knows the look does him no favours, but it really does work in helping him stay under the radar. He has no doubt that Freddie would laugh himself silly if he saw.

He knocks on Freddie’s door, idly considering putting the beanie back on again just to make Freddie laugh. When the door opens, however, it’s Roger, not Freddie, who greets him.

“Hey,” Roger says. He throws a cautious glance into the flat behind and then looks back at Brian, biting his lip. “Come in, but, er – Freddie’s a bit upset, so – ”

“Upset?” Brian’s instantly protective, hackles rising at the thought of anything and anyone upsetting Freddie.

“Yeah – ” Roger’s eyes alight on the bag of food in Brian’s hand from which a delicious smell is rising. “Sorry, I was gonna go out when he said you were coming over, but then this happened and he’s a bit shaken up so I didn’t want to – ”

“It’s fine,” Brian interrupts, “it doesn’t matter. What happened?”

“He saw an article,” Roger mutters. “Someone from work sent it to him, I don’t know what they were thinking… well, they _weren’t _thinking. Some blogger found out about you going into the shop today and they’ve done a piece on it – ”

“On me going into a shop?”

“On you visiting Freddie.”

Brian frowns. “How do they know who Freddie is?”

“They don’t, but someone took a photo – there’s a lot of speculating about who he is in the article, and in the… comments.”

The way Roger trails off tells Brian everything he needs to know about the comment section. Protectiveness flares again, only this time it’s accompanied by guilt.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, trying to wrestle the emotions under control so that he can be calm and concise when he goes in to comfort Freddie. Roger leaves him to it for a few moments, then holds out his hand.

“I can take the food, if you want to…?” He inclines his head towards the living room again.

“Thanks.”

Roger leads him through the door and carries on to the open-plan kitchen, leaving Brian to stop in the doorway when he sees Freddie curled up on the sofa. He sits up as soon as he spots Brian and wipes a hurried fist across his eyes, trying and failing to look like he hasn’t been crying.

Brian is by his side in an instant. He sinks on the sofa beside Freddie and scoops him up into his arms, holding him against his chest. Freddie starts to shudder with minute sobs and Brian squeezes his eyes shut, glad that Freddie can’t see his face.

He feels like a complete arse. What was he thinking, swooping into Freddie’s workplace like that? He knows that he causes a commotion, a stir, he knows that articles like this tend to dog his steps. He’s used to it, but Freddie isn’t. He’s brought this down on Freddie’s head.

“I’m being silly,” Freddie says, muffled against Brian’s chest. “I’m sorry – ”

“Don’t be sorry,” Brian tells him fiercely. “It’s them who should be sorry. Whatever they’ve said, Freddie, you’re a million times better than them, okay? Trust me on that.”

Freddie just sniffles. He lifts his head enough to push his phone across the coffee table to Brian and then presses his face back into Brian’s chest, holding on tight.

Brian keeps one arm looped tightly around him and picks up the phone with his free hand. He swipes to clear the unread WhatsApp notifications and one Facebook tag which he sincerely hopes isn’t anything to do with this article, and refreshes the internet page Freddie had left up.

The headline is innocuous, at least, if a little condescending: **ROCKSTAR MAY VISITS BIBA SHOP BOY.**

The article is something he’s read a thousand times before so he only skim reads it. There’s a blurry photo of Freddie at the bottom, smiling at Brian and holding the door open for him to go into the backroom. Brian scrolls down, unable to help himself, even though he doesn’t want to see.

_This is a joke right?? 😂😂_

_Let me get this straight. Brian May, BRIAN MAY, is going out with... a shop boy? _

_Yawnnnn we’ve seen this before, celeb slumming it with us ordinary folk. They always seem to go for the plainest ones though don’t they? _

_I wonder what that kid’s got on him haha, no way May’s into that willingly_

_omg his teeth_

Brian’s heart clenches. He stops reading and puts the phone down, holding Freddie tight.

Looking up, he meets Roger’s eyes as he quietly plates up the food in the tiny kitchen. Roger’s eyes are sympathetic, but Brian doesn’t want to see it right now; he ducks his head back into Freddie, pressing a little kiss to the top of his head.

He can’t escape the knowledge that Freddie’s tears are entirely his fault.

**Author's Note:**

> i can vaguely promise updates soon-ish
> 
> PS. follow me on [tumblr](https://rhapsodicalfreddie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
